


well why don't you just shoot me into the sun then

by post_mortem



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou are Bros, Dom/sub Undertones, FUCK, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex, SORRY IF JOKES RUIN THINGS I HAD TO KEEP MYSELF FROM DYING SOMEHOW, Semi-Public Sex, Size Kink, Slut Shaming, Smut, Vibrators, but like really mild, humiliation but also really mild?, im sorry god hjaksdhkljhkhgsklhahsghk, it's all just fun lads, jesus theres just a lot of stuff in here. lots of it, just guys being dudes, literally too ashamed to tag anything else, oh yeah also, uhh, ushijima makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-05-17 09:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14829537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/post_mortem/pseuds/post_mortem
Summary: “Keiji,” Bokuto says, struggling to string together one coherent thought. “I, um. Hi.”Akaashi takes Bokuto’s face into his gloved hands, kisses him quick on the lips, and Bokuto thinks he fucking sees god. “Hi.”[a collection of smut! chapters can be read as separate fics!]





	1. storage room fun times (bokuto/kuroo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to an uncomfortable position where you do not know whether to laugh or cry  
> summary:  
> kuroo: dude you big  
> bokuto: yeah dude lemme hold u and shit

“Dude,” Bokuto says, hushed, and this is when Kuroo _really_ starts wondering how he got here in the first place. “Shut the fuck up. Bro.”

“You,” Kuroo manages, and god, his thighs. They’re _shaking._ “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you.”

A drop of perspiration makes its way down the side of Kuroo’s jaw, pushed against the storage room wall, and he thinks this might just be the shakiest he’s ever been in his life. The wand vibrator pushed in between his thighs is a constant hum, making his head spin and composure loosen.

He wants to ask Bokuto to let him sit down but he can hardly _think_ straight.

The Ace looms over him, behind him, everywhere. His chest on Kuroo’s back feels like a homey furnace as much as it does an iron wall. In the dark, not much else can be seen even with the most sensitive of eyes, and all Kuroo can know for sure is that he is _shivering._

“Dude,” Bokuto says again, and there’s an inappropriately child-like gleam to his eyes when Kuroo turns his head to look at him. “This is so fucking hot. You never told me you were this hot.”

A mewl escapes his lips before he can even think of retaliating. “You’re so,” Kuroo starts, but is interrupted by a soft moan when Bokuto presses even closer to him. He’s so _big._ He’s huge, and there aren’t enough people to count on his one hand who can dwarf him. Kuroo is already pretty big himself. But _Bokuto?_

The vibrator traces a path along the bottom of his cock and up towards his asshole.

“I’m so?”

“You’re so fucking horrible, you know that?”

Bokuto hums. “How so? Don’t you like this?”

“I’m — ” Kuroo stops and reconsiders. “Tooru’s gonna fucking find us h-here.”

“Yeah, and?”

He brushes the hair out of his eyes to look at Bokuto, and raises his eyebrows. _“And?”_

“And nothing, Kuroo, bro. I’m pretty sure Oikawa fucks Iwa here, like, every day.”

Kuroo makes a face of disgust. “You’re pretty relaxed.”

“Well. You’re pretty,” Bokuto says, and moves to pull Kuroo down — fucking finally — to sit snug on his lap. “I’m so fucking lucky.”

“Sure are, bro,” Kuroo says, grinding backward onto Bokuto. He wishes he had some semblance of control left but he know so badly that all he’s doing now is _he’s faking it._

“How’s that feel?”

"Mmngh. _Good."_

"Yeah? I bet you think about being fucked every day, huh?"

Kuroo's blush runs deep, he feels hot all the way to his collarbones. "I — no." __

__

__

_"No,"_ Bokuto echoes, mocking. He takes a hold of Kuroo's thighs and rocks his hips upward, and oh _god,_ Kuroo hears himself let out sharp, high-pitched moans, so _hungry_ for sweet friction.

“I want to cum,” Kuroo announces, in a tone that sounds disturbingly like chibi-chan upon seeing an ice-cream stand. He winces, shuddering.

And then Bokuto reaches around him to put the vibrator back on his twitching hole.

“Hold this.”

Kuroo holds it. His cock stands rigid, still touch-starved, and he’s shaking, always.

“Yeah,” Bokuto coos, breathily, "good boy." He intertwines his fingers with Kuroo’s free hand, kissing up the back of his neck. “You wanna cum, right?”

“Fucking — asshole. I’m not r-repeating myself.”

“Sure you aren’t.”

Suddenly, big, strong hands reach under his arm to take a hold of his cock. Kuroo swears when a little squeeze makes his back arch and his head fuzzy.

“Shit,” Bokuto says. “I can’t believe we didn’t do this before.”

“I can’t believe you,” Kuroo says, for the millionth time, and gasps as he bucks up into the fist. The wand vibrator is mind-numbing, but nowhere near how good Bokuto's hand feels around his cock, pumping almost lazily, making Bokuto turn Kuroo’s head halfway to meet his and eating up his moans as they fall.

“Fuck,” Kuroo groans. He kind of marvels at the Ace’s self-control, actually; if he were doing this to Tsukki, for example, he’d already have descended to the seventh circle of hell. As it is, Bokuto seems only to be interested in his best friend’s pleasure today. _To whom do I owe the pleasure?_ Kuroo thinks, and then he tries to imagine that Fukunaga is dirty enough to understand the joke. It’s a mistake.

“You gonna cum yet?” Bokuto asks, and Kuroo nearly gets whiplash from how fast the question yanks him back into the present. “You’re such a fucking slut, you know. I never would have thought, Kuroo, but I mean, you’re just falling apart over here.”

“Fuck you, bro,” Kuroo spits, but he leans back, exposing his neck for Bokuto to bite. He hisses when sharp teeth make contact. “You're the one who started this.”

“Slut,” Bokuto repeats, and punctuates it with a particularly rough jerk of his cock. Ever the traitor, a bead of precum spurts out of the tip.

“Please,” Kuroo says, instinctively, and has to hold back a moan. His hole twitches deliciously, the head of the vibrator is slick with precum and sweat, and Bokuto has to untangle his other hand to hold Kuroo’s right leg still. And then his thumb rubs circles against his upper thigh, and Kuroo genuinely has to stop himself from squeaking. “Oh, _fuck,”_ his voice wavers. “Please. Bo, _please.”_

“Shit. _Fuck_ yes,” Bokuto says. “That’s fucking hot. Beg for me some more.”

Kuroo can’t muster up the energy to resist. His eyes roll back into his head, and Bokuto’s fist working his cock makes a sweet tension start to collect in his gut.

_“Nngh. Please.”_

Bokuto leans close, nipping at his ear, and Kuroo moans at how his breath comes almost feral past his jaw. “Yeah, just like that,” the Ace rumbles. _“More.”_

“Please, let me cum,” Kuroo pants, twisting in Bokuto’s lap. “I’m so fucking close. Please. Baby, _please.”_

“Baby,” Bokuto says, sounding more surprised than anything, but then folds himself forward so as to capture Kuroo’s mouth over his shoulder. It’s so _warm,_ the heat feels so good on his tongue, Kuroo thinks he could probably cry. _Tearjerker,_ he thinks, and almost chokes.

And then Bokuto runs the pad of his thumb over Kuroo’s slit and suddenly _everything_ becomes focused on that point on his body, pleasure rushing to him in waves, thighs shaking around the vibrator. He’s breathing in Bokuto’s smell, memorizing his taste, their tongues sliding so sensually across one another, and oh _fuck, I’m gonna cum I’m gonna cum I’m gonna cum_

“I’m —” Kuroo gasps, hissing in uneven breaths.

“Come on, cum for me,” Bokuto beats him to the call. “Kuroo, baby, please. I want you to cum.”

Kuroo moans salaciously, in tandem with the quick pumping — _one, two_ —

And his muscles tense with his orgasm, and he lets out a long, broken moan, and feels the hand around his cock slow to a stop. A pressing thumb clears away the rest of the cum from his slit.

“Messy,” Bokuto says, a grin in his voice, and the first thing Kuroo sees when his vision starts to clear is the distinct outline of Bokuto’s hand being raised to his mouth.

“Bo.”

“Yeah?” Bokuto says, nonchalantly, as he shoves two cum-covered fingers into Kuroo’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. Kuroo tongues around the digits, moaning almost shyly now as Bokuto’s other hand presses up his side. His hands are big, and _big_ feels good anywhere on his body. Kuroo’s eyes hood. The fingers fuck in and out of his mouth, leisurely, rubbing up against his tongue, thumb resting just next to his lips, and _okay, who decided that having fingers in your goddamn mouth should be this fucking arousing._

But Kuroo’s just come, so when his sensitive cock makes an interested twitch he nearly fucking _folds_ in _half._

“Alright,” Bokuto says, and that’s a finality if Kuroo’s ever heard one, “so I’ve got a massive boner now, and Tooru’s gonna come stalking in here any minute, so we should probably leave?”

“Mm,” Kuroo replies, mouth still full of Bokuto’s fingers and his own cum. _Fuck,_ he feels _dirty._

“Oh. Right.” Bokuto removes his fingers, wiping them on the front of Kuroo’s red shirt.

“Hey!”

“Hey!” Bokuto repeats, laughing, and stands up to stretch. He bends back down to put his arms under Kuroo’s, pulling him upright as well, and okay, shit, the lanky man can barely _stand_ on his feet without swaying. Tooru’ll definitely call him out for it at practice.

“Guess I’ll just have to go without the shirt,” Kuroo grumbles.

“Guess so,” Bokuto says, his eyes lighting up.

“You’re so fucking stupid. You’re just the worst,” Kuroo complains, also stretching. His limbs still feel tight, and his face feels like an incredibly deep shade of red, to conveniently match his cum-stained shirt. “What are you even going to do with the fucking wand now? Did you even think about that?”

“It’s whatever, bro,” Bokuto says, palming at the erection under his shorts shamelessly. “I’ll just put it in a plastic bag and wash it later. Let’s go. I don’t think Oikawa would want me to play the whole match with _this.”_ He gives his dick a squeeze through the cloth. “Or I don’t know, maybe he would.”

Kuroo snickers. “Maybe he would.”

Speaking of the devil: right on time, a shrill voice rings outside the storage room doors, followed by a slamming of doors. “Okay, _kids._ Now where the _fuck_ are those two fucking bastards?”

Bokuto looks at Kuroo with wide eyes, which is the first time the guy’s shown any shape or form of panic this morning. He has just enough time to kick the vibrator into his open backpack before the storage room doors open with a bang and light floods the place, which momentarily fucking _blinds_ Kuroo.

“I swear to fuck —” Oikawa begins, but then stops abruptly, mouth agape.

His gaze land on Kuroo’s formerly pure-red shirt, makes a short trip to Bokuto’s _huge_ fucking boner, and then stares with murderous intent at the puddle of fluid on the green mats, his pretty face becoming more and more scrunched in disgust every passing second. Kuroo decidedly feels like exploding.

“Okay,” Oikawa says, finally, his hands on the side of the door. “That’s fair.”

“Huh!” says Bokuto, turning to Kuroo and offering him a grand smile. He picks him up easily, warranting a grunt from where Kuroo’s stomach folds over his shoulder, and picks up his backpack to carry in his free arm.

Oikawa steps aside for them, still looking absolutely traumatized.

“I’m feeling a little pissy today,” he says, distantly, as the two are leaving the storage room.

“Yeah?” Bokuto says.

“I mean,” he continues, and as Kuroo is carried away, he realizes belatedly that he will never, _ever_ be prepared for the horrible things that come out of this man’s mouth. “I think I’ll just get Iwa-chan to help me clean up your mess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello if you found yourself weirdly aroused or wheezing uncontrollably at my writing please give me feedback thank u


	2. let's explore kinks like einstein explored relativism (bokuto/kuroo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry i just love this pair so much  
> summary:  
> bokuto: *gets slapped*  
> bokuto: *looks at incidental boner* aw Shit

“I mean,” Kuroo says, and the afternoon sun coming in from the window is a little too hard on his naked back. “It shouldn’t be that difficult. Like. If you’re flexible enough it’s just, like, another thing that you learn to do.”

“A party trick.”

“A party — exactly, exactly.” Kuroo crunches down on what’s left of the lollipop in his mouth, squinting at his phone. “I guess then you’d really be able to say you fucked yourself.”

“I mean — in front of an audience, though? You into that, bro?”

“I’m into,” Kuroo says, chewing candy shards, “many things. For example. You, my cherished and beloved bro, Koutarou.”

Bokuto sits up to yank the lollipop stick out of Kuroo’s mouth and toss it into the trash can. “Kuroo. Tetsu.”

“Bokuto.”

“I think it’s time, Kuroo.”

“To do what?”

“To put on your dick-eating gloves.”

There’s a short silence where Kuroo wonders if either of them had accidentally smoked weed in the past hour.

“You know,” he says, and there’s a click muffled by the blankets that indicates he’s turned his phone off. “That can mean several things. For one, gloves for eating dick. For two —”

“Gloves that eat dick.”

Kuroo nods seriously. “Gloves that eat dick.”

A pause. “So just normal gloves then?”

Bokuto throws up the covers and ducks under them when Kuroo gets up faster than his limbs can follow and pounces clumsily onto Bokuto’s currently-occupied region on the bed. 

“Get back here!” he hisses. “You can’t just say that!”

“I can,” says Bokuto, his wheezing muffled by Kuroo’s weight atop him.

Kuroo blows a raspberry against the blankets. “Get fucking fooled,” he says, kneading the blankets with his fists. “You buffoon. It was a ruse all along.”

“A ruse to kill me?”

“To get you on the bottom.”

Bokuto burrows his head out of the blankets and blinks owlishly at Kuroo. “Aw, shit.”

 _“Aw, shit_ is right. You fool.”

“This is absolute madness,” he says. “You’re too cute to top.”

“Hell did you say to me?” And then on a whim, Kuroo winds his right arm back and strikes his best bro across the fucking face. “You fucker?”

His question is met by silence, so Kuroo blinks and leans a little closer, hesitant.

Bokuto’s eyes are closed, his head turned sideways by the force of the slap. There’s a bright-red splotch above his jaw.

“Oh, shit,” Kuroo says, laughing a little sheepishly as he touches his hand to the mark. “Bro. Did I hit you that hard? I’m sorry. Dude.”

Bokuto coughs, but Kuroo catches the little twitch to his lips.

“Bo.”

“Press _f_ to pay respects,” Bokuto says, out of the side of his mouth. “I’m fucking hard.”

Kuroo leans back a little. “What the shit?”

“You heard me. Bro.”

“You madman. You absolute fucking madman.”

Kuroo scoots back, off of the Ace’s chest and onto, well, _you know,_ and sure enough, there’s just the slightest bump that can be felt under a thick layer of blanket.

Bokuto fishes his arm out and raises it to his jaw, rubbing it and groaning (in pain, Kuroo thinks).

“You have a strong dick,” Kuroo says, rocking his hips.

“Thank you,” Bokuto replies, and turns his head to face him. “Hit me again.”

Kuroo pauses, says, “Jesus fucking _Christ,”_ and raises his palm.

The _slap_ rings around the walls of Bokuto’s bedroom, and the big Ace squirms under Kuroo. The sound that comes out of his mouth is less groan and more moan, now, and Kuroo finds himself shivering as Bokuto moves his hand up to press into his side.

“Thank you,” he says, Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow. “More.”

Kuroo suddenly realizes he feels kind of tight in his shorts. Oh _shit._ “I’ll beat the shit out of you,” he announces, as if in defiance.

 _“Fuck_ yes, please do.”

But, in the end, he’s far too nice to do that. If either of them were to get beat up, it would be in a fair tussle. There really is nothing like the high of fist-fighting with your best bro, even if the amount of times you get yelled at by your teammates upon seeing all the bruises counts as all manners of a down. (Kuroo’s jaw still sores from their last fight.)

 _This,_ though, has never been a thing of interest. Until now. And Bokuto’s never really been good at hiding what he likes.

That’s why they’re all cozied up here in the first place, isn’t it?

 _Slap._

The Ace’s whole face is turning red, and the colour is quickly seeping down his neck.

“Thank,” Bokuto says, the sentiment rushing out, and he has to take a deep, wavering breath before trying again. “Th-thank you.”

“Dude,” Kuroo says, just as ridiculously flushed, “you don’t have to thank me every time.”

Bokuto has the gall to crack a smile. “Isn’t that what subs do? Is that a thing?”

“Oh,” says Kuroo. _“Ah.”_

“Ah?”

“It’s — yeah. It’s pretty hot.” Understatement. Kuroo feels like _evaporating._

“I fucking knew you were a switch this whole time.”

“Dude. I knew you were a switch the second I saw you. With little Akaashi-kun.”

“Dude. Oh _shit._ Now there’s a real top.”

“Dude,” Kuroo repeats. “Have you ever _looked at yourself?_ You’re the definition of a fucking top if I’ve ever seen it.”

“That’s because,” he says, “that’s because you’re biased. And you’ve never. You’ve never been on the ground under Akaashi’s shoe while he looks down at you with his smoky eyes and yells at you about un-captain-like behaviour.”

“Dude,” Kuroo says again, in awe.

“Yeah,” Bokuto agrees.

“No, _dude._ You’re into humiliation. That’s kinkier than _me.”_

Bokuto shrugs. “Well what can I fucking say when there’s Akaashi and then there’s. Yeah. _You.”_

Kuroo swallows, and his heart fucking swells to three times its size. “Bo.”

“Yeah?”

“Dude, I love you.”

“Love you too, bro. Now get off me so I can go properly jack off.”

“No way in _fuck,”_ Kuroo says, moving so that he can remove the blankets from between them. “I can do you one better.”

Settling back down onto Bokuto, straddling his waist, Kuroo moans extra-languidly as he starts to slowly rock his clothed erection over the other’s.

_“Shit.”_

_“Mmngh._ This okay?”

“Oh _yeah._ Fucking novel.”

“Dicks out for Kuroo, then,” he says, and has to control how hard his breath is coming. Bokuto barks out a laugh, but arches up so that his boxers can be pulled down a little more easily. Kuroo follows suite just after, maneuvering himself so that his cock, heavy and and flushed and already hard (seriously! That was uncalled for!), lies smack on top of Bokuto’s.

“How are you so thick in every single way, holy _shit,”_ is Kuroo’s first reaction, and Bokuto gives him a shrug and a wink.

“Put your hand,” he says, and then takes Kuroo’s hand himself and wraps it around their cocks. Bokuto is already dribbling precum; evidence of just how much he’s apparently into the whole slapping-humiliation thing. Kuroo has to swallow. This is already _so much._

Kuroo’s fingers are long. Lithe like his body; graceful even, if not for the callouses so common of guitarists. And then there’s his entire middle-blocker spiel. (Hell, he’d even chewed Tsukki out once or twice because blockers are _expected_ to have hardy fingers — he doesn’t make the rules, thank you very much.)

But Kuroo’s imposing demeanour absolutely pales in comparison to thick-muscled Bokuto. His big hand wraps easily around his, no problem, and though Kuroo’s on top for once he hardly feels like he’s in control. Not physically, anyway, what with Bokuto guiding their hands up and down the shafts, precum already making lewd squelching noises whenever they reach the top.

Kuroo focuses his gaze on the tips of their cocks, angry red, disappearing and reappearing into their fists every half a second. It feels so fucking _good._ Bokuto is _so good to him._

_“Mmn. A-ah.”_

“Kuroo. _Mnh._ Bro, listen.”

“I’m — _ah —_ listenin’.”

“Hey. You’re so fucking _adorable.”_

“No,” Kuroo says, instinctively, and leans forward so that he can fuck himself into the tight hole made by their fists. He touches his forehead to Bokuto’s, catches a glimpse of attentive, golden eyes before he closes his own eyes and moans in pleasure.

“Oh, _shit. Jesus,”_ Bokuto whispers, an inch away from Kuroo’s open mouth, and then he swings his free arm around the back of Kuroo’s neck and pulls him down to close the distance.

_“Mmmngh. Fuck.”_

“Fuck yeah. That’s so hot.”

“That’s my line,” Kuroo says, panting, and takes the opportunity to lick into Bokuto’s mouth.

They kiss sloppily, wet noises from wet tongues, and okay, _look,_ Kuroo’s never really cared much for kissing before Bokuto. To be fair, he’s never really cared much for anything in sex before Bokuto. (And yes. Tsukki’s still being pretty difficult, but Kuroo will work his charm somehow. Seriously — he’s, like, _powerless_ when it comes to that guy.)

So anyway, Kuroo’s never really cared for kissing, but as of this very moment, with Bokuto’s face still flushed a beautiful shade of red under him and the increasingly urgent need to cum, Kuroo sees the big deal with all that tongue-on-tongue nonsense.

“Dude,” Bokuto pants, into the other’s mouth.

“Y-Yeah.”

“You gotta — I want to be hit again. Please.”

Kuroo lets out a little snicker of surprise. “Oh, look at you. Big boy,” he says. _“Mmnh._ Asking so politely. You must really fucking like it.”

(Unlike Kuroo, the Ace is good at asking for what he wants. Kuroo’s working on that sort of easy confidence.)

(For now, he’s just trying to keep his voice steady.)

“Please,” Bokuto says. “I’m gonna cum soon. _Tetsu.”_

Kuroo obliges, leaning back so that he can stare right into Bokuto’s soul through his golden, golden eyes before slapping him into oblivion.

_Smack._

"Th-thank you."

Kuroo’s palm _burns._

“Who’s the slut now?”

 _“Me,”_ Bokuto says, and _shit,_ there are tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“That’s fucking right.”

“Tetsurou. _Fuck._ Baby, your hand feels so good.”

“This is. So fucking weird,” Kuroo says with a grin, breaking character for a hot minute.

Bokuto laughs, and it’s a hearty sound. He turns to smother his tears into the blankets. “You like it too, I think.”

“Oh, — _shit_ — fuck yes I do.” Kuroo sobers up, folds down to press soft kisses to Bokuto’s jaw and beyond. “You’re so fucking _big,”_ he moans, shivering.

“I’m gonna cum,” Bokuto says, voice nearly imperceptible.

“What was that?” Kuroo asks, rubbing his cheek against Bokuto's teasingly.

“I’m _coming._ I’m — _ah — mmngh —”_

Kuroo watches with pupils blown wide as Bokuto’s cock jets out thick, white cum all over his own chest, some landing on Kuroo’s cock as well, and that’s what ultimately makes him curse and stroke himself out fiercely like his life fucking depends on it. He finds Bokuto’s mouth again; the sight of him looking so absolutely fucked out and sweaty and cute is enough to send Kuroo’s heart into wild acrobatics.

_“Bokuto —”_

Kuroo cums all over Bokuto’s toned chest, and collapses on top of him.

“Dude,” Bokuto says, raising a hand to ruffle Kuroo’s hair. “That was so good.”

“Thanks. No, you.”

“Bro, you got cum all over me.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo agrees. He reaches blindly toward Bokuto’s cheeks, which are abnormally warm. “You think you’ve been slapped enough this century?”

“Mm. Maybe. It was pretty hot for a good hour.”

Bokuto’s arm finds a tissue box which he uses to clean the two of them up, and Kuroo lets out a little mewl when his knuckles accidentally brush against his cock.

“You know, I’m not cut out to dom,” Kuroo says, rubbing a thumb across the Ace’s cheekbone. “But I do know what I _am_ cut out for.”

“Yeah?”

“You,” Kuroo snickers, nuzzling into his shoulder.

 _“Aww,_ babe. You’re like a little kitty.” Bokuto kisses the top of Kuroo’s mess of hair, and rests his arm on his back, and that is how they find themselves the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mom holy fuck


	3. i can't believe kuroo is in the marianas trench (kuroo/tsukki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jesus christ almighty i swear i had to stop every 2 seconds while writing the smut parts to keep from dying  
> summary:  
> kuroo: im literally begging u i dont want to go back to uni yet  
> tsukki: die

“Kuroo-san. Will you get off of me.”

As it turns out, the grassy field encircled by Karasuno’s running track is the perfect place to initiate a “little harmless bonding,” as a certain Ace had so deftly put it.

_ That’s how I charmed Akaashi,  _ Bokuto had said.

_ No,  _ Akaashi had interrupted, not even looking up from his textbook.  _ You sat on me until I was forced to tell you how hot you were. _

Kuroo rolls onto his back now, flattening Tsukki’s other leg into the grass. “Not a chance, angel-face. Can’t have you escaping before I serenade you at least three times more.” He raps his knuckles against his beloved guitar, lying a little ways to the left.

“Not a chance,” Tsukki repeats, wheezing.

“C’mon, baby, I still have a couple of songs left in me.”

“I can’t  _ breathe.” _

“Does that mean,” Kuroo says, “that I take your breath away?”

Silence. 

A shuffling: Kuroo feels Tsukki’s arm pull out from under his weight.

The  _ click  _ of his phone unlocking.

“Tsukki? What are you doing?”

_ Brrrrrrring.  _

_ Brrrrrrring. _

“I’m calling Kenma-san.”

Kuroo rolls off without a word. He gets on his knees on the grass and conducts the most heartfelt apology he has ever given in his life.

“Evaporate,” Tsukishima tells him, and then the phone line goes live. “Kenma,” he says, into the mic, and Kuroo tenses when he hears the setter’s responding tenor. “I’m sorry, but you must keep Kuroo-san with you at Hinata’s until you return to Tokyo. I am going home. I’m sorry again, and thank you very much.”

“Kenma,” Kuroo pleads, in a futile attempt to save his life, but Tsukki’s already pressed the end-call button.

“This has been a horrible time,” Tsukki says, getting up to stretch, “and you are insufferable as always.”

“Thank you,” Kuroo says, because he no longer fears death. “I’ve missed you a lot, baby,” he adds, layering on the  _ extra-soft _ , and gently takes the other’s hand in his.

Tsukki’s cheeks colour. “Although I do have to admit,” he continues, looking at the sky, “I’ve also, uh, missed you, as they say. And Kenma-san. Mostly Kenma-san.”

Kuroo perks up. “Have you, now?”

“I’m convinced I do not have to tell you not to push it, Kuroo-san.”

Kuroo pushes it. “Tsukki, I’ll just stay one more night, okay? Please? Then I’ll fuck off back to uni?”

“Stay where?”

“Uh. Is your mom home?”

“She’s at my aunt’s. You’re intolerable.”

“Tsukishima Kei,” Kuroo says, hoisting the guitar into his lap and playing a dissonant chord.  “You make me a very happy man.”

“Pleased to hear it,” Tsukki says, pulling up a handful of grass from the field. “I would be even more pleased to hear it tonight, provided you survive dear Kenma.”

  
  


 

 

Kuroo does survive Kenma, but only barely.

( _ “Twice!”  _ Kenma had hissed at him, while Kuroo cowered behind chibi-chan, who was frantically waving his arms in attempt to calm the setter down.  _ “Tsukishima apologized to me twice! You might as well perish!”) _

He disspells the thought from his brain hastily, because all of a sudden he finds himself at the door of the Tsukishimas.

The door swings open before he has a chance to knock.

“Hey,” says Tsukki, his voice going a little sideways, “I think you’ve been standing here for ten minutes.”

“Oh,” says Kuroo, and forgets completely how to talk just a second later. And for good reason, really — Tsukki’s wearing black skinny-jeans that seem to augment his already-impressive height, a sweater whose sleeves extend just beyond the tips of his fingers, and a smile that is entirely too soft for Kuroo’s wellbeing, and it wouldn’t be wrong at all to say that Kuroo feels like evaporating on the spot.

Even the sunset sky, with the last of its light projecting magnificently onto the side of Tsukki’s face, seems to agree with him wholeheartedly.

“Are we going to stand here all night?” Tsukki says, raising a finger to trace a dumbfounded jaw, and stifles a laugh when Kuroo’s eyes try to follow the movement.

“No,” says Kuroo, blushing like Tadashi in front of Yachi-san, for fuck’s sake, “I — no. Let’s go in. You’re cute as fuck, that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tsukki says, and when he drops his voice to a whisper Kuroo feels like he’s dropping directly into the ocean. “C’mon, then, I thought you missed me.”

At this point, Kuroo’s heart is beating so fast that he thinks he ought to pause for a second to keep from dying entirely. But what he does is the complete opposite — as it turns out, Kuroo is still multitudes stronger than little Tsukishima, despite being the same height, and pushing them both into the house and slamming the door shut behind him and pressing Tsukki against the wall in the span of three short seconds is a lot easier than it usually plays out in his head.

“You seduced me too hard,” Kuroo says, an inch from Tsukki’s lips, “and now you’re gonna pay for it, you sly little  _ tori.” _

At the hitch of Tsukki’s breath, Kuroo dives in, and he finds it  _ is  _ exactly like dropping into the ocean three-hundred feet below, only instead of facing the impact of cold, icy water, it’s  _ hot, sweaty, wet,  _ and oh  _ shit,  _ the  _ noise  _ Tsukki’s making nearly sends him spiralling into the bermuda fucking triangle. Kuroo kisses him like he means it, and  _ boy  _ does he mean it. And Tsukki’s arms come up to grab at anything before Kuroo pins his wrists above his head with a single hand, his other pressed lightly against his cheek to make sure he doesn’t run away, now that he’s  _ got  _ him, he’s finally together with the boy he so misses.

Kuroo feels lightheaded.

_ “Ah  _ — Kuroo-san —”

“Yes, baby?” Kuroo answers, against his lips.

“I — please. I need —”

“You  _ need?” _

“Shut the hell u-up,” Tsukki says, struggling against Kuroo’s hold. “Just. Just — let’s go to the bed, okay?”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Kuroo says, pressing one last peck to his mouth. “By the way, you’re being incredibly pliant today — what’s the occasion, huh?”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” Tsukki bites, and doesn’t address the other half of the comment; even as he’s picked up and carried easily by the rooster-head and then deposited onto myriad soft pillows.

“You know,” Kuroo says, climbing on top of Tsukishima and pinning his wrists to the bed and looming over him with a wicked smile. “Akaashi-kun says he misses you too. Did you know that?”

“Really?” Tsukishima asks, breathily, and tests his strength against the hands cuffed around his wrists like he doesn’t already know how trapped he is. His breath is coming so fast, so unevenly, and his golden eyes are dilated with more than just arousal — there’s some semblance of fear, too, and his adorable desperation to gain back control is what drives Kuroo absolutely fucking nuts.

“Really.” He snickers at him and leans closer, letting his thighs squeeze snug around Tsukki’s hips. “Now imagine — imagine what Akaashi-kun would say if he saw you like this, huh? Snarky, unruffable Tsukishima Kei reduced to a fucking mess under Kuroo-san’s weight?”

“N-no. I — no,” Tsukki pleads, and Kuroo can’t help but recapture those pink lips into his own mouth, bite a little with his canines. He moans as Tsukishima pants and twists under him.

“Hmm,” Kuroo purrs, beginning to rock the bulge in his jeans against Tsukki, “I can recall a certain time when you hated me being on top of you. Do you remember?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Tsukki replies quickly, his eyes fluttering shut from the physical pressure. 

Oh  _ fuck  _ that’s hot.

Kuroo switches Tsukki’s wrists over to a one-handed grip and uses his other to sneak under his red sweater and all over his perfect, ceramic-smooth skin. He presses a little harder at the sides just to feel Tsukki’s mouth quirk up and his muscles tense a little because he’s ticklish and that makes him at least three hundred times cuter than he already is.

Bokuto is an excellent top, sure, but Kuroo thinks there’s certainly nothing like having adorable Tsukki lose his composure under his very touch.

“Tell me what else,” Tsukki says, snapping Kuroo out of his trance.

“Hm?”

“Tell me what you did while you were gone.”

“What I — oh.  _ Oh.  _ So  _ this  _ is what you’re into, Tsukki.” Kuroo finds the blond’s nipples, ghosts his thumb over them. 

The comment about Akaashi had been a calculated shot in the dark — it’s obvious to  _ hell  _ that little Tsukki is attracted to the sharp and graceful man, or maybe to the fact that he has complete control over Bokuto-san at any given moment; Kuroo thinks, that’d be pretty hot to  _ anybody.  _ Akaashi’d be pretty hot to anybody, anyway. 

He won’t count the fact that Akaashi is one of two people that Tsukki had actually bid congrats to when their respective graduating classes went off to university. (Kuroo was there for Kenma. In fact, the other of the two people  _ was _ , unsurprisingly,  _ Kenma. _ )

(Kuroo, on the other hand, had gotten the cold shoulder when he left their last Karasuno-Nekoma match. He took close to zero offence about it.)

“Still with me?”

Kuroo’s eyes meet honey-coloured ones. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Thinking about what we did.”

“Don’t think about it if you won’t tell me,” Tsukishima huffs, and struggles against Kuroo’s hand again.

“I’ll tell you, baby. Let me take care of you today, alright?”

Tsukishima doesn’t respond, but squeaks when Kuroo leans down and takes one of his erect buds between his teeth and pulls gently.

“Sensitive here, aren’t you.” Kuroo licks over the pink bud, then lets his warm breath keep the area sensitive as he speaks. “You know, I was talking to Akaashi-san the other day.”

“Akaashi-san?”

“Akaashi. And I was complaining about you, you know. I asked him what he would do if Bokuto-san was being a naughty little slut who wouldn’t do what he wanted.”

“Kuroo-san!” Tsukishima shivers under him. “You — you didn’t say that. You didn’t say that to him.”

Another lick, and then Kuroo releases his wrists so that he can play with both of the sensitive nipples at once. “I did. And you wanna know what he said to me?”

“W-What?”

Kuroo slides his hands up Tsukki’s sides, with his thumbs passing by the pink nubs, and Tsukishima wriggles, biting his lip to keep noises from coming out. He leans closer, closer, till his lips are almost touching Tsukki’s neck, and drops his voice to a baritone. 

“He said that naughty boys deserve to be _ punished.” _

With that, Kuroo goes to work aggressively sucking a mark onto Tsukki’s neck, and when he comes up for air the blond is still clenching handfuls of blanket into his fists. God, how Kuroo wishes he had the patience to take a fucking picture. (The idea of it sounds really hot, actually. He saves it for later.)

Feeling hot and bothered in the most literal of terms, Kuroo fumbles for the corners of his shirt, takes it off in a hurry, and when he looks back down he finds Tsukki’s embarrassed gaze fixed on him like he’s the only thing in the world, and it makes him feel so fucking  _ good. _ The gaze travels down his chest, slowly, and Tsukki’s hands come up to frame his waist, and Kuroo  _ can’t fucking wait holy fucking shit. _

By now he feels like he’s probably deep in the marianas trench and he’ll never rise to the goddamn surface again.

“Tell me if I’m too mean, okay?” Kuroo whispers, and waits for Tsukki’s shy “okay” before sliding off of his figure and proceeding to yank off Tsukki’s pants, pull up the end of Tsukki’s white shirt and stuff it into his mouth (holy  _ fuck)  _ and start to mouth and nip fevently at his thighs.

Tsukki releases the bunched up shirt right away. “K-Kuroo-san — please — no teasing —”

“I’ll tease all I fucking want,  _ chīsana karasu,”  _ Kuroo snaps, and pinches Tsukki’s thigh. Oh  _ Jesus  _ Tsukki makes it easy to play this role. And it doesn’t help that he’s been away at uni so goddamn long. “You always act like you hate my fucking guts when really you can’t wait for me to eat you up.”

Tsukishima whimpers at the tone, gripping the blankets so hard his knuckles start to turn white. 

“Now hold still or I might accidentally bite a chunk out of you.”

Kuroo makes his way up shaky thighs (oh look! something they have in common!) until he reaches Tsukki’s dick, positively  _ straining  _ against the confines of his underwear, and mouths firmly up the shaft.

The blond moans quietly, unsure hands finding a home in Kuroo’s hair, and  _ ooh god that feels fucking good. _

“Tsukki,” Kuroo says sweetly, forgetting for two seconds that he was supposed to be feeling a little mean, and licks a stripe up the clothed outline of his erection. “You want me to suck your cock?”

All at once Tsukki’s hands leave his hair and go to cover his reddening face. The snarky bastard can’t be completely immune to Kuroo, after all. He makes a small, affirming noise, but that isn’t fucking acceptable.

Kuroo takes the waistband of Tsukki’s boxers with his teeth and pulls down just enough to expose some sensitive skin, which he attacks right away. “I asked you a question, Tsukki,” he says, and punctuates his impatience with a sharp nip. “Do you want it?”

“P-Please. Please, I want it.”

Kuroo adjusts himself and pulls down the boxers further, just so the tip of Tsukki’s cock catches on the waistband. “Want what?”

“I want you to — to suck me off. Please take care of me.”

_ What the actual living fuck that is adorable. _

“Alright, baby,” Kuroo says, if only to stop himself from saying anything momentarily inappropriate, like  _ holy shit you’re so fucking precious  _ or  _ you’re the literal light of my life  _ or  _ I love you so fucking much. _

So anyway, Kuroo doesn’t know a whole lot about the technicalities of sucking dick, but he’s taken Bokuto once or twice, and Bokuto is objectively bigger _ and  _ thicker than anyone else he knows.

Tsukishima’s cock is pretty and flushed and matches its owner, and that’s all Kuroo’s got to say on the matter of describing dicks.

Kuroo takes the head of his cock into his mouth, slowly, gives little kitten licks here and there, and a minute later he realizes that he’s so unbelievably hard in his pants that he’s starting to leak out of his own boxers and then out of his fucking jeans.

The jeans are gone in two seconds.

He hums, sinking the entire length of the cock into his throat, which makes Tsukishima moan so fucking arousingly that Kuroo thinks he dies and enters some state of perpetual bliss. Tsukki bucks his hips up into Kuroo’s mouth, wet and warm, and  _ alright, _ Kuroo’s got to take some pride in taking it all so smoothly.

He has half a mind to press Tsukki’s thighs back into the mattress and slow him down just to be mean, but in truth, he feels like he might just be ready to ejaculate in his own boxers.

When he comes up to breathe, he kisses the tip of Tsukki’s cock, and looks up to meet Tsukki’s honey-golden eyes, his cute button nose and soft lips, parted slightly while he plays with Kuroo’s hair, and oh  _ jeez, so much is happening holy shit. _

“You gonna cum down my throat, Tsukki?” he asks, a little hoarsely, and licks his lips just to make a point.

“Yeah,” Tsukishima agrees, quickly, and not a second later Kuroo takes his entire cock into his mouth again, making Tsukki moan and shiver with pleasure. He swallows around it, then bobs up and down, up and down, sucking hard and making a rhythm that he can’t seem to goddamn break out of.

Tsukishima moans, says “Kuroo-san —” and that is the only warning Kuroo gets before he feels his throat constricting and convulsing with Tsukki’s pulsing cock. He swallows a mouthful of hot cum and then some, and when Tsukki whimpers from the sensitivity and pulls his cock out of Kuroo’s throat there’s still some cum left in his mouth.

“Mm,” Kuroo says, reaching for Tsukki’s cock to squeeze the last bit of cum out, and waits for him to open his eyes again before opening his mouth lewdly to show the sticky cum on his tongue.

“Fuck you,” Tsukishima says, weakly, and pushes his face away. Kuroo swallows.

He reaches down to his own erection, and only needs to pump himself a couple of times through his boxers, staring shamelessly at Tsukki’s adorable, fucked-out face, before he cums  _ so fucking hard. _

It’s five minutes after he collapses that he remembers how sweaty the both of them are, and there’s still cum dripping off of his boxers, for fuck’s sake. But it’s dark, and it’s late, and the bed’s so comfortable, and Tsukki’s breathing slowly under his arm, and can Kuroo  _ really _ bother?

(He falls asleep before he can think of an answer.)

 

 

 

 

(Tsukki yells at him the next morning, but that’s all water under the goddamned bridge.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry i physically cant bring myself to write penetrative sex ghajsh;ghdsg i am but a baby  
> mayhaps in another. hmm. week or so


	4. bokuto nearly fucking dies of a heart attack (bokuto/akaashi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello. its literally been months. im sorry i got very very swamped with Work and Personal Character Development and now i am back to deliver this gross shit. i love u all  
> summary:  
> akaashi: [does literally anything]  
> bokuto: FUCK

“If you’d just step this way, please,” Akaashi says, smiling softly amidst the not-so-covert whisperings of  _ who’s the bouncer  _ and  _ holy shit did you see him  _ and  _ god, look at the eyes on that pretty boy.  _ It’s properly dark outside, but Akaashi’s delightfully illuminated from time to time by the strobe lights leaking from the door.

 

Well, that’s the short of it, anyway.

 

The long of it, as far as Bokuto can tell, is that he is so fucking completely enamoured that he feels like he might actually be dying. He’s gone. Erased. At least, he’s pretty sure that whatever Akaashi’s got going on right now is genuinely illegal.

 

First, Bokuto’s brain helpfully checks off his list, there’s the eyeliner. No,  _ first,  _ there’s the shiny, circular thing that goes around his forehead, sharp and winking, and — no —  _ first,  _ there’s Akaashi in his entirety: inky eyeliner, shiny forehead thing, silver dust on cheekbones, night-black turtleneck (and  _ really,  _ how  _ did  _ he manage to pull that off), white gloves, and on fucking top of that, black thigh-high socks.  _ Thigh-high socks.  _ How fucking dare he.

 

First, there’s Akaashi in his entirety, and then there’s the way he fucking moves.  _ Are you shitting me,  _ Bokuto thinks when he sees him fold gracefully into a bow, gloved hands swept out in a flair.  _ Is this real,  _ Bokuto thinks when Akaashi laughs at something a girl says to him and gently pushes her in by the small of her back.

 

Bokuto swallows. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel so fucking confident walking up to the door.

 

Right on time, Akaashi catches his eye from ten meters away and smiles, waves him over. He might as well have shot Bokuto with a goddamn sniper. Of course, though, Bokuto goes.  _ It’s just Akaashi,  _ he has to remind himself, but then it really fucking isn’t, not when his tongue feels like a paperweight at the top of his throat.  _ It’s just Akaashi. _

 

When Bokuto gets to within four or five meters from the door, Akaashi waves a taller, stoic-looking man over to take his place. Bokuto watches as the stoic man insists on kissing everybody on the back of the hand before letting them in. It’s fucking great. But anyhow -

 

“Koutarou-san,” Akaashi says, pulling him back to the present and also to the side, and Bokuto swears that somewhere, a chorus of angels answer to his voice.

 

“Keiji,” Bokuto says, struggling to string together one coherent thought. “I, um. Hi.”

 

Akaashi takes Bokuto’s face into his gloved hands, kisses him quick on the lips, and Bokuto thinks he fucking sees god. “Hi.”

 

“You,” he tries. “Keiji, you are, you can’t be doing this.”

 

“Doing what, Kou-san?”

 

“This.”

 

“What?”

 

“This,” Bokuto repeats, and curls his hand into a gun to mimic shooting his head. “Or this,” he adds, in a rush of drunken power, taking Akaashi’s hand and setting his palm against his too-fast heart. Akaashi lets him.

 

“I can do what I want,” he says, looking up at him from under his eyelashes. The strobe lights coming from inside the house paint red and purple on his cheekbones.

 

Of course, he’s fucking right. Of course, he could ask Bokuto to trip over his own feet and eat gravel right now and he’d do it all enthusiastically.

 

“You’re fucking killing me,” Bokuto groans, palming his face in embarrassment.

 

“Mm,” Akaashi agrees sagely. “I’ve been told I have that effect on people.”

 

“Been told by who?”

 

“Kuroo-san, mostly.”

 

Bokuto huffs, and his breath is visible for half a second. “Man, fuck Kuroo. I mean, I love ’im. But fuck ’im.”

 

“Are you jealous, Koutarou-san?”

 

“Not at all. I mean — no, of course not. I trust you.”

 

“Koutarou-san, it’s okay to be jealous.”

 

“I’m not jealous. And none of that  _ -san _ shit _ ,  _ babe, I told you.”

 

Akaashi’s tone takes on a teasing lilt. “Are you cold, then, Koutarou?”

 

Bokuto starts. “No? It’s not  _ that  _ bad right now. Are you?”

 

“Kou,” Akaashi laughs, like bells. “Koutarou. You’re so cute. Let’s try that again.”

 

Bokuto smiles, too, if only to cover the fact that he might have completely ceased to think because  _ Akaashi just called him cute holy fuck.  _ Unfortunately, he still has no idea what the fuck is going on. “Try what?” he asks.

 

Akaashi steps closer, tilts his head a little, bites his bottom lip, and — oh. _ Oh.  _ Shit.  _ Fuck. _

 

“Koutarou,” he begins, soft and innocent, running a gloved finger down Bokuto’s chest, which is rising in heat at a fucking alarming speed. “Are you cold?”

 

“I SURE FUCKING AM,” Bokuto announces, eyes wide. He’s absolutely certain that in some other universe he just died of a heart-attack.

 

Akaashi smiles up at him. “Let’s go in then, shall we?”

 

“YES,” Bokuto answers, feeling like a steaming kettle. “Let’s. Proceed.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“I think I’m dying. I’m really about to die.”

 

_ “You got this, bro. Just take a deep breath and fucking go for it.” _

 

“It ain’t that fucking easy. You’d say something different if you saw Keiji tonight.”

 

_ “Well, I didn’t. And I’m not there right now, either, so have fun for me, won’t you?” _

 

“Tetsu. Can you please send in a good word for me to god.”

 

_ “You’re gonna be fine, chill. You’re about to have the best time of your goddamn life.” _

 

“Kuroo Tetsurou.”

 

_ “Kou. Love you, take care. Try not to blank out so you can tell me what went down after.” _

 

“Kuroo -”

 

Dial tone. 

 

Bokuto heaves a sigh and looks down at his awful, awful erection. He’d excused himself to one of the washrooms (the host, that same stoic man from earlier, sure has a lot of them) and now Akaashi is waiting for him to come back so that they can do the Sex™. Which would sound like fucking fantastic news anytime else, honestly, but now Bokuto’s scared out of his skin, which is fucking not fantastic news because  _ it’s just Akaashi  _ and everything is really, really going to be  _ fine, seriously. _

 

Except for the fact that it’s not.

 

He’d cleaned up by himself, because Akaashi told him he had already done so earlier (and honestly, Bokuto nearly started fucking wheezing from how hard he was trying not to combust) and then consulted Kuroo, who was of little help, probably because he was and still is being occupied by someone else. Bokuto can guess who.

 

Anyway. Bokuto’s been in this washroom for ten minutes. Any longer and Akaashi would probably start thinking he had suffered violent diarrhea or something else of that vile nature, which is admittedly one of the only things that drives Bokuto to put his hand on the door knob to exit the washroom right now. Who can blame him, though. Anyone who lays their mortal eyes on Akaashi Keiji would not only immediately transform into a gay man, but also they would become completely submissive to his will. Bokuto’s sure of it.

 

Akaashi’s leaning against the rail at the end of the hallway with his arms crossed when Bokuto finally fathers the gall to step out of the washroom. Akaashi raises his head at the noise, smiles quietly. Bokuto feels like a ball of nerves; he almost goes to hide his erection when he remembers  _ oh yeah, that’s kinda the point. _

 

“Koutarou-san,” Akaashi purrs, hands going to play with the hem of his sweater. “There’s an empty room right over here. Come on. Hurry.”

 

Bokuto swallows, and goes.

 

“I feel red,” he says when Akaashi takes his hand and kisses it. “Very, very, very red.”

 

“Well, it’s too dark to see,” Akaashi says, touching his cheek. “But you sure feel like it. Are you sure you’re still cold?”

 

Bokuto coughs. “I. I definitely am. In need of a warming up. Fuck. Shut up.”

 

Akaashi only smiles at him and leads him onto the bed. It’s a pretty fucking big bed. (Bokuto kinda has to wonder about this stoic host man at this point. He hopes he’ll remember to ask about him later.)

 

“Keiji,” Bokuto breathes when the other man pushes him back onto the white pillows. “Keiji. Fuck.”

 

“Yes, Koutarou-san?”

 

“Keiji, you look so good, holy  _ shit.  _ Sorry.”

 

What Bokuto means to say is, well,  _ shit,  _ where does he even start. He feels so fucking hot he can’t begin to fucking describe it: the easy way that Akaashi captures the attention of everyone around him, the damned eyeliner, every single movement of a slender, gloved finger, the calculated power behind such an unassuming figure. If Akaashi tried, he could probably hold Bokuto down easy. The thought overwhelms him.

 

“I know,” Akaashi says with a soft confidence. “You too, and don’t be sorry. Let me spoil you?”

 

“Th-then please take care of me,” Bokuto stutters out, like he’s fucking sixteen. His jeans are really starting to feel uncomfortable.  _ I have that effect on people,  _ Akaashi echoes in his brain, which, impossibly, makes him redden further.

 

In a quick second, Akaashi makes quick work of Bokuto’s dress shirt and jeans. He’s scarily versatile even with the white gloves on, but honestly Bokuto just becomes even more turned-on at the thought and he really doesn’t know how to feel about it.

 

“These are actually piano gloves,” Akaashi says when he catches him staring. “They arrived yesterday, and I hadn’t had a chance to use them yet.”

 

“Sorry their debut has to be -” Bokuto flushes. “Uh. This.”

 

“I’m not,” Akaashi says, smiling. “Sorry, that is. Koutarou, please move up the bed.”

 

“Oh,” he says, and obeys, because it’s easier than trying to form a coherent string of words to describe how he actually feels. Akaashi climbs on top of his hips steadily and goes to dispose himself of his own sweater as well, and then — oh,  _ shit. Shit, his socks.  _ His  _ thighs. _

 

“They’re cute, huh,” Akaashi teases, taking Bokuto’s hands and curling his fingers over the elastic top of the socks, making him pull on the stretchy fabric and then releasing it to snap back onto his legs.

 

“Fuck,” Bokuto says, shakily, grabbing for the little bit of Akaashi’s exposed thighs.

 

Gloved fingers run firmly up Bokuto’s sides, fanning apart when they reach the dip of his collarbones, then converging again as they start up his neck and under his jaw.

 

Akaashi presses his fingers into the dips at the corners of Bokuto’s mouth. “Are you okay?”

 

“NEVER BEEN BETTER,” Koutarou replies dutily. “Though I think I stop breathing every time you look at me.”

 

Akaashi laughs. “That doesn’t sound healthy,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I think you might want to get that checked.”

 

“Too bad there isn’t a doctor here,” Bokuto says, holding in his imminent laughter because he’s trying to get it, okay, and it’s not like the idea of Dr. Akaashi doesn’t sound fucking mouth-watering.  _ Shit, _ that’s dirty.  _ Fuck. _

 

“Wait,” says Akaashi, “are we…?”

 

“Are we?” Bokuto echoes awkwardly, suddenly feeling ridiculously shy. “I mean, uh, shit, do you want to?”

 

“I think,” Akaashi decides, “next time? I’m sorry. I really want to get to the part where you fuck me.”

 

“YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT,” Bokuto wheezes, but of course he can.

 

“It’s true,” he says, raising his eyebrows and rocking his hips over Bokuto’s, which immediately pulls a gasp out of him. And then Akaashi smirks. And Bokuto rocks his hips up again, because Akaashi smirks like fucking knives. (In this simile, knives are sexy as fuck. In this simile, Bokuto’s so hard he starts drooling.)

 

“Koutarou,” Akaashi moans softly, and then fumbles hurriedly to pull Bokuto’s boxers clean off. His flushed cock springs free like some kind of cursed jack-in-the-box, and Bokuto really, really wishes he didn’t make that comparison. Metaphors and similes are clearly not his strong suit. Somebody please fucking stop him.

 

Anyway, his flushed cock springs free and he embarrassedly grabs a hold of it like he’s choking a chicken, and  _ alright,  _ wait, who the fuck came up with  _ that, honestly, what the genuine shit,  _ he’s got to  _ calm down - _

 

“Please talk to me, Keiji,” Bokuto chokes out, “or I’ll be forced to narrate everything in my head in extremely shitty similes.”

 

“Okay,” Akaashi says, sultry, without missing a damn beat. “ _ Mm, _ Koutarou, you’re so fucking hard,” he says, and licks his lips, which makes Bokuto instantly regret the sheer speed at which his body temperature is rising. “Let me get a taste of that, will you?”

 

“Please,” Bokuto exhales.

 

Akaashi moves himself lower on the bed so that his fluffy black hair lies in between Bokuto’s legs, and his breath comes warm over the head of his cock. He pokes the tip of his tongue out at Bokuto, who huffs an embarrassedly breathy laugh, and wraps his fingers gently around the shaft.

 

“Wait -” Bokuto fumbles around in his pocket. “Con — condom.”

 

Akaashi takes it from him, gently, tears it open with his teeth, and — wait — why is he putting it in his mouth -

 

“Wh -”

 

_ “Nngh,” _ Akaashi insists, tenting his fingers over Bokuto’s chest to keep him from moving. He leans down, hovers over the tip of Bokuto’s cock, and then rolls the condom down the shaft with his mouth so smoothly that Bokuto doesn’t even feel it until Akaashi’s come up again, wet lips and all.

 

“ _ God,” _ Bokuto says, after he’s remembered how to breathe. “Where’d you — that’s so fucking hot, shit. How are you  _ real.” _

 

“I haven’t done anything yet,” Akaashi smiles, wiping his mouth and then reaching down to squeeze his cock a little. The gloves feel a little rough and, well, fabric-y, but there’s literally nothing that can stop Bokuto from his enjoyment of Akaashi’s flustered face, and certainly nothing that can stop him from busting a whole nut in two seconds -

 

“This was nice, in theory,” Akaashi bites his lip, looking down at his hands. “But I can’t imagine they’re very comfortable.”

 

“Wait,” Bokuto says. “Do it with your teeth.”

 

“With my teeth?” Akaashi says uncertainly.

 

“The gloves, take them off,” Bokuto says, nearly breathless from how fucking excited he just got thinking about it, “with your teeth.”

 

Akaashi does so; hooks one of his canines on the pointer-finger of a glove, and slides his hands down and out slowly. Then he does the same with the other one. Bokuto watches, completely enamoured, feels his dick actually twitch.

 

“That shouldn’t be this hot,” he complains. “What the shit.”

 

“Relax,” Akaashi says languidly, which is when Bokuto actually notices he’s folded upward into a near-sitting position.

 

“But I wanted to see you in my lap.” The whine dies on his lips as he obediently lies back down.

 

“Later, sweetie,” Akaashi says, “later.” And then he takes his entire cock into his mouth.

 

When Bokuto says he dies right then and there, he wouldn’t be kidding, or exaggerating; well maybe a little, but he genuinely feels the force of fucking god holding him back so that he doesn't cum down Akaashi’s warm, wet throat at that very second. He moans brokenly as Akaashi’s mouth continues to move up and down, tight around his cock, one hand holding it at the base like a microphone. 

 

(In this simile, Akaashi can deepthroat a microphone.)

 

What he means to say is, it takes all of his willpower and then the force of social pressure not to moan so loud that stoic host man actually hears them through the walls, but he does let little whimpers through at a time because  _ fuck that feels so good, fuuuck. _

 

Akaashi should definitely be crowned the king of blowjobs, if you get what he’s saying; like, Kuroo’s very good, and very long, which means he has a long throat, but  _ Akaashi Keiji  _ has got to be something else entirely. Akaashi is -

 

“Fuuuuck,” Bokuto moans, chest flexing from how hard he’s trying not to buck upward. “Keiji,  _ please. Please.” _

 

“Mmn,” Akaashi replies, throat vibrating around his cock. He looks up at Bokuto through dark lashes, and  _ shit,  _ Bokuto’s gonna — he’s gonna -

 

Akaashi pulls off his dick wetly. He wipes his mouth with his arm. “Nn. Not yet.”

 

“Evil,” Bokuto says, trying to control his breathing so he doesn’t cum hands-free just from looking at Akaashi’s gorgeous fucking face. “Is it — are you -”

 

“I actually,” Akaashi says, when Bokuto’s sat up and made room so that he can fit comfortably near the middle. He gets onto his stomach with his ass in the air, toward Bokuto, and  _ god, _ that’s an attractive ass. “I actually. Um.” He presses his face into the sheets.

 

“You’re fucking adorable,” Bokuto breathes, grabbing two handfuls of meat.

 

“Mmn, hurry — pull down -”

 

Bokuto rolls off Akaashi’s dark boxers and loses his breath all over again, because there, in all its circle-based glory, is the end of a black plug. There’s a  _ plug. _

 

“You can’t do this,” Bokuto says, faintly. Akaashi muffles a whine into the bed as Bokuto shifts himself and takes it out gently. Akaashi’s hole suckers on to it tightly all the way. “Fuck. You can’t — how long?”

 

“This morning,” he whispers.

 

“Shit.  _ Shit.” _

 

“Please hurry.”

 

“Alright, baby, I hear you,” Bokuto says, feeling like he’ll combust any second. “Lube. Where’s the -”

 

Akaashi points to the bedside drawer, and sure enough, there’s a convenient new bottle inside. It’s even strawberry-flavoured. Who  _ is  _ this host guy.

 

Bokuto gets to work really fucking quickly, swathes the lube all over his cock, lines himself up with Akaashi’s cute asshole. (It’s fucking cute, give him a break.) He lands his hands at Akaashi’s hips, pushes in, slowly, groaning when Akaashi sucks him in smoothly.

 

“Okay, baby?” he says with difficulty.

 

“Hurry,” is all Akaashi manages to squeak, wiggling his hips backward onto Bokuto’s cock.   _ Jesus,  _ that’s hot. “Fuck me, please, Kou.”

 

“Whatever you want, Keiji,” Koutarou breathes, leaning over to kiss his back fondly, and pulls back only to rock back in with enough force to sore his hips a little. Akaashi moans into the sheets and Bokuto can’t fucking stop himself anymore, he takes up both of Akaashi’s wrists, presses them to his back, and holds them there with one hand while he fucks in and out of his warm hole with myriad lewd squelching noises. It’s incredibly hot, and also, like, hot physically, but it’s like Bokuto’s sweating out his poisons or whatever Kuroo tried to tell him that one time he asked for biology help. Anyway. The point is he’s hot. Akaashi’s also hot. Steaming.

 

“Koutarou,” Akaashi says, clear as day, turned so Bokuto can see how some of his eyeliner has smudged onto the sheets. Which shouldn’t be arousing, but is, somehow, and also somehow makes Bokuto even more warm. Oh god, he’s not making sense any more.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Harder, please,” Akaashi says, breathy, and Bokuto indulges him with absolute fucking pleasure.

 

“Feel good?” Bokuto says, pressing even deeper. “You gonna come dry, baby? Come around my cock?”

 

Akaashi keens languidly in response, arms straining in Bokuto’s grip.  _ “Mmn, yeah -” _ Akaashi shakes under him — “Kou, I’m gonna come now —  _ Kou — please -” _

 

“Come for me, then,” Bokuto moans, fucking into Akaashi even harder and faster to chase after his own orgasm as well.

 

“I’m — I’m coming,” Akaashi announces, and his breath comes out in quick  _ haa _ ’s as his asshole contracts fucking deliciously around Kou’s cock. By god, Akaashi is fucking adorable. And hot.  _ God. _

 

_ “God,”  _ Bokuto utters, and comes, and sees fucking fireworks go off behind his eyelids. That’s funny. There should not be fireworks behind his eyelids. 

 

His cock does not stop pulsing as he lets go of Akaashi’s wrists, rubs them softly, leans down to press kisses down his back. It’s a really nice back. He pulls out of Akaashi gently, ties the condom into a knot, and tosses it into the trash can. Then he pushes Akaashi onto his side, carefully, finds Akaashi’s boxers and slips them back on for him (this requires a bit of maneuvering, because Akaashi won’t move his own legs), and then kisses down his thighs, too. He takes both wrists and kisses them, and Akaashi lets him without so much as a denying twitch of a muscle, and then Koutarou goes to find his own boxers as well.

 

“You have a really nice back,” he says, joining Akaashi back on the bed, warm and satisfied. “Keiji?”

 

Akaashi’s breath is coming incredibly evenly.

 

Bokuto smiles and kisses him on the forehead, pulls him closer, sweaty skin and all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ “So?” _

 

“You were right,” Bokuto says into his phone, softly as to not disturb Akaashi, who is still fast asleep.

 

_ “I’m always right." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave kudos and comments i am very tired. smooch


End file.
